Welcome to Fight Club, Marla
by polydora
Summary: Jack lives for Fight Club, but what happens when Marla joins? Rated PG13 for violence and language.
1. Savoring Punches

I hated Marla Singer since she killed the only relief I had in support groups and thereby bringing back my insomnia. I hated her more when she came to our home, as if beckoned by Tyler subconciously, and stole Tyler away from me. I hated only Marla. I didn't blame Tyler, though I knew he was what brought her here.  
  
I couldn't blame Tyler.  
  
I attended Fight Club with Tyler, as if we were hosts to a party, though the guests had gotten there first. I walked behind Tyler, down the paint-chipped steps into the basement. I watched the eager faces of the "members" as they watched Tyler's hand slide down the broken banister. Their faces looked hungry, as if the punches thrown at them were all they ate. When Tyler's feet hit the basement floor, I could almost see the micro hairs stiffen on their necks.   
  
Tyler walked into the center of the room, and I lost myself in the crowd before him. He stood as if he was the ref in a wrestling ring, his arms crossed. He was Fight Club's god, and the punches thrown were worship to Tyler.  
  
He began to recite the rules of Fight Club, when I smelled the scent of strong smoke. Not smoke from a grill or a fireplace. A cheap, artificial smoke that only came from cheap cigarettes was what filled my nostrils. I looked around to see who was producing the smoke.  
  
My stomach dropped like an elevator. Marla Singer stood at the back of the crowd, a cigarette hanging from her lip. She crossed her arms over her thrift store, fishnet top. Her hair looked like a fresh roadkill wig. Why was she here? Did she hear word from the bartender? Were girls even allowed in Fight Club?  
  
Then a thought came into my mind. What if Tyler invited her? It was possible. But then again, it wasn't. Had Tyler violated the possible rule of "no girls" and invited her? He just wouldn't do it. I began to understand that the relationship between Marla and Tyler may be a long-time relationship.  
  
I didn't want her here. I only wanted Tyler and Fight Club. She had taken over both, just as she had taken over my relief in support groups. She didn't have testicular cancer or any morbid disease. She didn't need Tyler. She didn't need Fight Club.  
  
I heard Tyler finish with the last rule of Fight Club: "If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight." Everyone began to take off their shoes and shirts, of course with the exception of Marla, who only took off her shoes.  
  
I glanced at Marla. I knew this was her first attendance to Fight Club. I had attended every "meeting". She would have to fight. I wanted her to lose.. To show everyone that she was weak.  
  
Tyler looked at Marla. "You're new. Fight." He said, beckoning her to the center of the room with a finger, then stepping away from the crowd and into the shadows of the basement. I knew why he didn't call her by her name. I knew what Tyler knew. He didn't want his members to know they had a sexual relationship, because if so, they would accuse him of mercy if he ever fought one-on-one with her. We wanted all fights fair.  
  
I saw Marla look at me. I looked away, pretending I hadn't seen her stare. She walked into the center of the room, her eyes still on me. "Let's go." She said. I knew she was challenging me. I stood my ground. "Come on." She beckoned. Finally a strong hand guided me to the front of the crowd. I had no choice.  
  
I took a fighting stance in from of her, my head bent slightly. She mirrored me, but cracking her neck menacingly, then winking. I didn't understand why she winked, but didn't care.  
  
She was the first to throw a punch. Her fist planted itself into my stomach. Her punch forced me backwards, holding my stomach. Her punch fed my anger and adreniline. Instantly I shook it off, returning to my stance. I socked her right in the chin. She socked me back. Somehow my punches were slow and savoring, as if every punch was shaking off my hate for her little by little. Soon we were on the ground, fiercely throwing punches. My punches weren't slow and savoring anymore. They now existed only for the hunger of pain and blood, as did her own from the start of the fight.  
  
Our fight seemed endless. "It's a draw." Tyler said, appearing from the shadows. I was a little startled. I had almost forgotten he was there. I heard him when Marla and I had gotten back on our feet. We were both bruised and bloody. I didn't bother shaking Marla's hand- I simply walked back into the crowd. Eventually, so did she.  
  
The taste of blood in my mouth lingered. All I thought was: Will Marla be here tomorrow? And the next day? And the next? 


	2. Trust Tyler

I had never thought about Fight Club this much before. I lie on my stained, coil-heavy mattress, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow was the next Fight Club meeting. Marla would be there. Why wouldn't she be there? I began to wonder if I wasn't thinking about Fight Club, but more about Marla. I admitted that I was thinking more about Marla.  
  
When Tyler and I had returned home from Fight Club, he had never mentioned Marla's prescense at there. I recall walking through the door and leaning against the table, watching him search through our fridge. A bruise marked his cheek, and I could tell his knuckles were sore by the way he stretched his fingers. Coincidentally, a bruise marked my cheek too. That was where Marla had punched me.  
  
As I lie on my mattress, I folded my arms over my stomach. The stench of urine and an unfamilier, sour odor briefly filled my nostrils as I rolled onto my side. From the corner of my eye, I saw Tyler walk from the bathroom and into his room. I heard his door close. Hours passed before I fell asleep.  
  
The next day came all too quickly. I saw Marla walk past my door. I knew what I had to do. I darted out of my room and stopped Marla with a rough hand on her shoulder. Her eyes followed me as I stood before her. My heels hung off the edge of the top stair. If she moved any closer, I would most likely tumble down the stairs, through the door, into the street where an 18-wheeler would run me over.  
  
As I opened my mouth so speak, I was interuped by Tyler. He stood at the foot of the stairs. I hadn't seen him. I just knew it. I knew he was wearing a high quality, blue tuxedo that was imported from India, previously used at a wedding. Then it was discarded when the groom was seen buying himself a $5 dollar hooker with a fetish for blue tuxedos. I knew this because Tyler knew.  
  
"What are you doing?" Marla asked. She swung her foot a bit, threatening to kick me in the shin and send me down the stairs, straight into Tyler. "I have to talk to you." I explained, swallowing a great deal of saliva. I hadn't eaten breakfast.  
  
"About what?" She asked. I tried not to laugh. She was being naive and numb. How could she not know?  
  
"About Fight Club."  
  
"First rule is: No one talks about Fight Club. Second rule-"  
  
I cut her off. "I know, I know. Let's make an exception, ok?"  
  
"Ok." She looked me over suspiciously.  
  
"I want you to leave Fight Club."  
  
"What? Why?" Her eyebrows drew together in frustration and confusion.  
  
"You know why." I said. I stared at a patch of mildew on the wall. I couldn't look at her anymore.  
  
She pushed me aside. Luckily I caught myself by grabbing a corner of the wall. "I don't want to hear this." She said, walking down the stairs. I followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen, right past Tyler, who seemed to be idly playing with his nails. She picked up her keys from the table, heading for the door. I grabbed her shoulder again. She stopped and shook it off, looking at me.   
  
"What the hell is your problem?" She asked.  
  
"I don't have a problem. I just want you to listen."  
  
"Yes, you do have a problem! You definitley have a problem. I need Fight Club. So do you. I know you want me there."  
  
"Marla, I-"  
  
"We don't need this conversation." She said, again cutting me off. My fists tightened frustratedly. She wouldn't let me make my point.  
  
"Take her keys." Tyler said.  
  
I jumped slightly. I had forgotten Tyler was there. It amazed me how silent he could be. "What?" I didn't understand.  
  
"Take her keys." He said again. It was a simple command, and I had no reason not to obey.  
  
Marla looked me over, her hand resting on her hip. Tyler often instructed me like this. No one else seemed to notice or care, but when I obeyed Tyler, things always worked out. I took her keys and raised them high above her head. Lucky for me she wasn't wearing her platform shoes. She stared at me like I was a bad child, like I was just asking to be slapped in the side of the head.  
  
"Give them to me." She asked. She wasn't begging. She was demanding.  
  
"No." I said.  
  
"Not until you listen." Tyler added.  
  
"Not until you listen." I repeated.  
  
She swung her arm at her keys, only managing to hit the edge and making a slight jingle. She lept up, but I quickly switched hands. I would stand here until she listened.  
  
"I don't want to play games." She said.  
  
"Me neither." I expected her to cut me off again. This time there was a pause. She was waiting for me to speak again. I smiled, satisfied. My trust in Tyler always payed off.  
  
I knew what I wanted to say. I wanted to explain why she needed to leave. I wanted her to leave Fight Club and know why she left. It was the same reason I had given her when I needed her to leave my support groups. She was killing the stress relief and joy I had in Fight Club. So why didn't I say that?  
  
"Fight Club is at Dave's Gentlemen's Club." I said, dropping the keys into her palm.  
  
"Ok. I'll see you there." She said, pocketing her keys and walking out the door. She closed it behind her.  
  
Fight Club wasn't going to be at Dave's Gentlemen's Club. I didn't even know if there was a Dave's Gentlemen's Club. Possibly, but I probably mispronounced the name. I knew what would happen when she found Fight Club. I knew she was going to find Fight Club, and when she did, she'll be wearing her platforms. She'll bring a second pair, in case when she shoves her foot up my ass, they get lost in my small intenstine. It happened to this one guy on FOX News or something.  
  
Tyler stared at me. "What the hell was that? Dave's Gentlemen's Club?!"  
  
"I don't know." Wrong. I did know.  
  
"What have you learned from Fight Club?"  
  
This took me a moment. What had I learned from Fight Club? I learned how to fight better, I guess. "To fight better." I immediately regretted this when Tyler socked me in the face. I held my cheek, moaning.  
  
"Wrong! You obviously can't fight any better. You would've dodged that!" He had a point.  
  
I began to back away. He grabbed me by the back of my collar. There was a cheap waffle iron sitting on the table heating up. He opened it and shoved my face as close as it to get to the waffle iron's steaming surface without touching it. It stung my eyes. This was what he called "therapy", where he gave me near-death experiences and convincing lectures. It helped. I don't know why.  
  
"Close your eyes, numbnuts!" He said, which was actually advice.  
  
I closed my eyes. Good idea. The stinging faded from my eyes, but the heat still stung my face. I knew what I had learned. To trust Tyler. I trusted Tyler when I took Marla's keys. I didn't trust him when I told Marla that Fight Club was at Dave's Gentlemen's Club. I made a mistake then.  
  
"To trust you!" I said, wincing in pain. If it hurt this much to hover over a waffle iron, I wondered how much it would hurt if he slammed the lid shut. I imagined my face flat with impressions, like a waffle. I tried not to laugh.   
  
"Do you really want to know how it feels? Do you really think it's funny? It's painful! Is pain what you want?!" He said. It was like he read my mind.  
  
"No!" I trusted Tyler that it was painful.  
  
"Don't say that just because your centimeters away from turning into a human waffle. Be honest."  
  
I thought about Fight Club. Pain was what fed my adreniline. I enjoyed the punches. Pain was what I wanted. Why did I come to Fight Club? Not because Tyler made me. He didn't make me. I enjoyed knocking the shit out of some 16 year old kid. I enjoyed the 16 year old kid knocking the shit out of me.  
  
"Yes! I want pain!" I screamed.  
  
"Good answer."  
  
Slowly, Tyler let go. I lifted my head and watched him sit down, tapping the ashes off the end of his cigarette, then tossing it into the sink. That was what I heard learned from Fight Club. To trust Tyler. If I trusted Tyler, I would live. I would be safe.  
  
"So.. You're making waffles?" I asked.  
  
Later that night was the next meeting of Fight Club. This was the first time I ever felt anxious about a Fight Club meeting. As Tyler and I walked through O'Riley's Pub, I anticipated each step closer to the basement. So far there was no sign of Marla. As we passed the bar, the bartender waved. Tyler waved back and continued, opening a door that led to the basement. He began down the narrow stairs and I followed, closing the door behind me. I felt no thrill of excitement as I joined the hungry faces that stood before Tyler. I felt numb and tired. Still no sign of Marla. A rush of excitement crawled up my spine.  
  
Tyler recited the rules of Fight Club. So far, it was like every meeting. It was that same smell of liquor that came from the first floor. The same hunger and excitement that lingered in the air. Yet a small sliver in me anticipated the opening of the basement door. I anticipated Marla coming through the door and down the stairs, her fists balled and ready. I anticipated her pulling me before Tyler, slamming her knuckles into my face and beating me unconscious. I was unprepared. Tyler would see. I would let her humiliate me in front of Tyler. I imagined all of this.  
  
Tyler finished the rules and everyone stripped down to their pants. "Calvin Klein and Michael." Tyler ordered, backing away and leaning against a column, folding his arms. A heavy set man with a Calvin Klein t-shirt walked into the ring. Michael followed. Once Tyler saw you fight, he knew your name.  
  
The two didn't waste time trash talking one another. They got at each other straight away, throwing brutal punches. Michael had a nice, curling kick that sent Calvin to the floor. I folded my arms just as Tyler had done, smiling.  
  
Suddenly I heard the door swing open. Marla's oversized combats seemed to create an earthquake only I could feel. Tyler glanced at her and my eyes her glued to her. The crowd and the men fighting didn't notice. They were lost in sweat and blood. I saw her clunk down the stairs, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her lips. She slipped into the crowd. Normally, she would be on her tip toes. Her boots boosted her half a foot. She searched the crowd most likely for me.   
  
I tried to slip deeper into the crowd, but she spotted her prey. She pushed aside the spectators who rooted the two fighting, making her way towards me. I escaped the crowd, seeing no way out but the stairs. I headed towards them, but it was too late. Like a wild beast, she charged me, slamming into the wall. My body hitting the plaster made it crumble a bit, falling onto my shoulders. Why didn't Tyler save me? He knew she was there. I sighed. Trust Tyler.  
  
"What the hell is with you?! I know Fight Club wasn't at Dave's Club or whatever it was. I trust you for once and then you screw me over!" Luckily she was speaking in a hushed voice, but not quite a whisper. Even if we did make a scene, the crowd wouldn't notice, but I couldn't afford the embarassment from Tyler. I couldn't speak. She pinned me against the wall with her arms. I guessed that possibly I could push her off, but I couldn't. I felt like a corpse.  
  
"Fifth rule: One fight at a time." I said to her. I didn't expect her to laugh. Tyler laughed, but she didn't notice.  
  
"No ones laughing. I'll kick your ass after these two." She unpinned me.  
  
I felt a great relief in my shoulders. She lost herself in the crowd, her arms folded. I caught her glance at me as I grinded my spine into the plaster. I prepared myself to make Fight Club history, or at least, Tyler Durden history. 


	3. Tyler Durden History

I stayed against the wall, as if my spine connected through the plast and through a pipeline, making my body immobile. I wasn't afraid of fighting Marla. I was afraid of losing. I was afraid of the shame and humility if I lost. And If I won, would I feel a great, spiritual relief I had never felt before? If so, would I have a need for Tyler? Would pain mean nothing to me? I realized the consenquences of losing and winning a fight with Marla. I reminded myself that who I was in Fight Club was not who I was in the rest of the world. But what if that didn't apply to me?  
  
Tyler looked at me. He always came in a time of need. He strided up to me, placing a strong hand on my shoulder. "If she kicks your ass, no hard feelings." He said, which was encouragement coming from Tyler. To me, it was as if he read it from the bible. No, it was as if the minute he said it, they were recording it in the bible. Of course, they'd replace ass with rump or something.  
  
He still wore his blue tuxedo pants. His coat was hanging on the banister, as well as some ritzy monarch shades. His plain, white undershirt was stained with blood and beer. It didn't much compliment his wedding theme. With those pants and coat, he could have a spontaneous wedding any minute of the day. With his shades, he could instantly become a clever drug dealer.  
  
I smiled and Tyler patted my shoulder, leaning against the wall beside me. He crossed his legs as the fight between Michael and Calvin ended and they retreated into the crowd. "You're up." He said, shoving me into the ring. His brief sympathy was over.  
  
Marla waited in front of me, already in a fighting stance. I swallowed nervously and mirrored her, flexing my fingers before putting them into fists. "Hit me." I said.   
  
It was the first time I had gotten Marla to do my bidding, because she did hit me. Straight in the jaw. I felt a slight crack and quickly righted my jaw, rolling my shoulders. Her fist balled up and socked me in the chin. I fell backwards, my head knocking on the floor loudly. It was as if the volume had faded then been turned up as the shouts from the crowd grew into a mass. I opened my eyes. The ceiling and hungry faces were spinning briefly, before Marla's fist met my face. I'll admit that it was one good punch. The kind that felt like slow motion, where I could feel the touch of her knuckles against my cheek, the force cutting your teeth into your gums and finally knocking your head to the ground. Over and over again she pounded me, my head jerking left to right.  
  
Slowly, I regained awareness to her beating the shit out of me, if she hadn't beaten it all out yet. There was no stopping her. It was like releasing a bull into a bullfighter's stadium. There was no sending that bull back. I was staring into a ceiling light, and slowly the light began to dim.  
  
When your in this type of position, the crowd is doing one of the following: Rooting on Marla, laughing because it looks like she's screwing me, or booing Marla. They weren't doing any of the three, which was bad. They were silent. And when the crowd is silent, that means my face must have looked like it was blugeoned with a bedpan. It must have looked like my father bred with a badger and produced a mutant, which was me.  
  
As quick as I could, I rolled over. Instantly I was on top of her, and she was staring bewilderedly. I knew she expected me to punch her, so I didn't. I wrapped my arm around her neck and pulled her backwards, holding her in a tight headlock. She lie in my lap while I attempted to near her to suffocation. Her body uncomfortably writhed and her fingers clawed at my own. I began to wonder if she would tap out or not, because she seemed caught in my grasp for quite a while.   
  
I felt her body go limp, her head rolling to the side and her cigarette falling from her lips and onto the floor. Slowly I let go. Her neck was bruised from my grip. The rooting and shouting coming from the crowd died. I stared, blood from her last punch trickling down my chin. Was she dead? I felt her pulse. No. Just unconscious.  
  
I stood up, picking her up by her waist with me. She layed limply, lifelessly against my shoulder. A rush of cold spread through my body. What if she was dead? Tyler and I had never meant Fight Club to go this far.. To killing. Well, at least I felt that way.   
  
Tyler stared awkwardly for a moment before taking her from me, cradling her in his arms. It appeared gingerly, though I assume he hadn't meant it that way. Her head dropped as her neck rested on his arm, and her legs hung over his other arm. He began toward the stairs and stopped, turning and looking at the crowd. "Fight Club is over. There is no homework for you." He said and began up the stairs. I followed behind. I wasn't guilty. I don't really know what I felt. But it wasn't guilt. It was the same relief I felt when hugging Bob- when I let go and cried. I didn't want it to go away, but it did.   
  
It went away the instant we climbed into Tyler's car. Tyler put Marla in the passenger seat, leaving me no choice but to sit in back. He was silent the entire car ride. I watched Marla's bobbing head when we hit bumps to occupy myself.   
  
The drive was quick. He stopped before our house, climbing out of the car and closing the door behind him. I climbed out as well, leaning on my door till it shut. He opened the door on the other side and pulled Marla out, once again cradling her gingerly in his arms. He closed the door with his foot and headed into the house, while I trailed at his heels.  
  
I closed the door behind us. I followed him up the stairs. I stopped at the top of the stairs, watching him carry her into his room and lay her on his bed.   
  
How gingerly he had been, picking her up. It made me feel terribly guilty for suffocating her. So I followed him. It was the first time I had actually set foot in Tyler's room. I had only looked at it every once and a while when I was looking for Tyler, or when I asked him not to "hump so loud".  
  
Tyler walked past me into the bathroom, shutting the bathroom door behind him. I sat on the bed next to Marla, watching Tyler's door swing slowly on it's hinges. I got lost staring at the door. I got lost in it's rythym.   
  
Suddenly I felt a hand on my arm. I gasped and realized it was Marla's hand. I looked at Marla. Her eyes were open, and her grip on me was as tight as if she had never been strangled.  
  
"You startled me.. Are you alright?" I asked.  
  
"Yea." She said, releasing her grip on my arm.  
  
"I thought you were dead."  
  
"No." She said as if she rather forget the incident, or at least have me stop talking about it.  
  
She sat upright, pulling up the strap of her tank. She scooted a little until she was next to me. The tension felt a little awkward, I'll admit. I still felt my guilt heavily, as if it were part of my aura. I wondered if she could feel it on me.  
  
I stared at my feet as if I were in a waiting room. I wasn't in a waiting room, I just had nothing to say. Suddenly I felt a hand on my inner thigh. It startled me, though I knew it was her. I didn't look at her. I knew what was coming.  
  
Marla's hand slid down my back and leaned her head against my shoulder. I didn't understand her affection. I had lied to her, then strangled her. I didn't deserve affection. If I deserved anything, it wasn't affection. At first I thought that was it. She just needed somebody to lean on, which I was ok with.  
  
Her head snaked forward, and her lips touched my neck. When was the last time I had been kissed? Since Tyler burned the shape of his lips onto my hand. I glanced at my hand.  
  
What was Marla doing? Tyler was in the bathroom. He could come back any minute. I'm no sex-genie, but I think one guy screwing you was enough. I glanced at the bathroom door and closed my eyes, hoping Tyler would magically appear and knock the crap out of Marla for hitting on me. I don't think he would dare hit her, though. That sort of thing he saved for Fight Club. Was that what she was asking for? Did she think she was teasing me?  
  
Her lips brushed my neck and kissed my cheek. I stood up, shaking her off of me. "What are you doing?!" I gasped. I headed for my room. I felt her eyes on me. Where, I didn't know. But they were watching me. 


End file.
